


Seven Sexual Situations

by Tierra469



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, Embarrassment, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Mutual Pining, Nudity, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 14, Sex Talk, Slow Burn, Spooning, The Talk, Voyeur Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2019-10-29 11:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17807081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: Seven short stories, wherein our boys find themselves in every-day sexual situations, from a tick in a bad spot, to attempting "The Talk" with Jack, to... well, just wait and see. Dean and Cas dance around each other, and find each other as well. It's just a day in the life...





	1. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally has the promised sex talk with young Jack, after observing some unfortunate behavior in the bunker. In a roomful of dudes, no less.  
> “You know what I mean,” he said darkly. “Just keep it in your pants.”

Dean took the love scene as a cue to head out to the kitchen for another beer, leaving Sam, Cas and Jack still lounging in Sam’s room in front of the tube. Things always felt a little too steamy in that windowless cell when the sexy times heated up onscreen. Like watching porn with your kids. Awkward.

It became apparent upon his return that he’d been too expedient. Standing in the doorway with a cold, sweating beer in his hand, he took in Sam, slouched in the far chair and fiddling with his phone, and Cas on the bed, propped stiffly against the pillows, wide-eyed and completely engrossed by the writhing figures still on the screen. So engrossed that he didn’t actually notice what was happening right next to him, where Jack sat staring—and digging the heel of his hand rhythmically into his crotch.

Dean blinked. Yup, the kid was masturbating. Right there in Sam’s bed in front of God and Creation and all of them. He averted his eyes, gave a little cough and took a drag on his beer, feeling heat crawl up his neck, even as the cold brew slid down.

He glanced back again. No, he hadn’t been imagining things—and Jack hadn’t stopped. What the hell?

OK, he told himself, so the dude is not two years old but looks 17 and maybe he’s learned about spanking the monkey already… or maybe this really is the first time he’s discovered pocket pool.

A memory came back to him, unbidden, of seeing Sam do the same thing on a public bus. He was probably six years old, which meant Dean was 10—and had barely figured out his _own_ dick—but he knew enough to know that you didn’t play with it on the bus. He couldn’t even remember what he’d said to his brother, but he’d definitely said _something_ (because of course they were alone, and their dad wasn’t there to say anything). Probably something along the lines of, “Cut it out, you little creep.”

It occurred to him with a sinking feeling that he’d offered several days ago on a hunt to have The Talk with Jack, but hadn’t followed through yet. He’d done it with Ben (though Lisa had already given the kid her own version), and he’d also done it with Sam, because God knew it hadn’t been the first thing on John’s mind. So maybe he qualified as an old pro at this—but that didn’t make it any easier. Why the hell did it have to be him _this_ time? Why couldn’t Sam take a stab at it?

He glared over at Sam, willing him to look up, but The Sasquatch was escaping in his usual fashion. Dean set his beer down on the desk, grabbed his own phone from his back pocket, and texted his brother.

_Dude check out Jack_

Sam opened the text, frowned momentarily, and finally looked up. He glanced at the bed, and Dean realized that Cas was probably blocking Sam’s view of the action. Sam looked back at Dean, quirking a brow and giving a little toss of the head. Clearly he couldn’t see what was happening.

_Jack is jacking off_

Both brows went up. Sam surreptitiously leaned forward in his chair and sent a side-eye Jack’s way. Dean had to suppress a smile as Sam leaned back again, his expression a mixture of amusement and slight horror, which mirrored his own feelings.

_Talk to him_

Sam pulled an extreme bitchface.

_YOU talk to him_

_We’ll get Cas to do it_

_Really??_

Yeah, ok, dumb idea. Dean sighed.

_C’mon, you’re the king of cuffing it,_ Sam typed.

Dean frowned. _Yeah well you’re…_

He really couldn’t think of anything snappy, so he erased the aborted attempt at a comeback, and got an eyeroll emoji a moment later. Followed by a hot dog.

Cas heaved a human-sounding sigh, and Dean looked up to see that the endless love scene had finally evaporated. Jack appeared to be in pain. If he didn’t do this now, while he had a couple beers in him…

_Take a hike,_ he texted.

Sam looked up and smirked. Then he stood and stretched, nearly touching the ceiling. “Gonna go get a snack,” he announced. “Cas, come join me.”

Cas looked somewhat nonplussed. “I don’t need a snack.”

“Yeah, but I need your help,” he said, jerking his head at the door.

“Why?” Dean watched Cas pause the movie, then slowly get to his feet and follow Sam out the door, and couldn’t help but smile at his confusion.

Jack turned to Dean. “Are they going to bake cookies?” he asked brightly. A few of the wacky-world survivors staying at the bunker had apparently been making full use of the kitchen lately, much to Jack’s (and everyone else’s) delight.

Dean snorted. “Let’s hope,” he replied. Then he cleared his throat and prepared to be dad-like. “So you, uh, you enjoying the movie?”

“Yes, very much.”

_I can see that,_ Dean thought, trying not to look at the bulge in the kid’s jeans. Or at the TV screen, which had been paused on somebody’s contorted face. “Good,” he said. “So, listen, I need to tell you a couple important things.”

Jack sat up straighter. “Alright,” he replied with seriousness.

“First is that you don’t touch your junk in a roomful of dudes.” _Why did he suddenly have déjà vu?_ “Or chicks… well, unless you’re all naked, I guess… or anywhere else you’re not alone. It’s just not cool. Got it?”

Jack blinked. “I… I think so…” he said slowly. But he looked confused.

Dean tried again, his heart pounding. Why was this scarier than a vampire in a dark alley? “Look, it’s ok to whack off. Everybody does it. But you do it in private. Not you know, like, in front of your dad. Dads.”

“Whack off… you mean masturbate?”

“Yeah… yeah, that’s what I mean.”

Jack looked thoughtful for a minute, then a flush rose in his face as it apparently dawned on him that he’d been caught out. “Oh,” he muttered. “Ok. Sorry.”

“Hey, every kid does it. No great shakes.”

Jack met his eyes again, this time with an expression of mild dread. “What’s the other important thing?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. He wished he could just say “Keep it in your pants,” like John had to him, but he knew how well that had worked.

“You, uh… you need to know a couple things about sex. I promised you we’d have the talk, remember?”

“Oh. The talk about sex. Yes.” Jack visibly relaxed and smiled again.

“So you, uh… you know how it works? I mean, you know, the mechanics?”

Jack nodded proudly. “Yes. I’ve been watching all the sex I can. There are so many movies on your laptop!”

“On my…” Oh shit. “When the hell did you get ahold of my laptop?”

Jack’s face changed again, sensing Dean’s anger, and Dean realized this wasn’t the time to get sidetracked.

“Never mind.” He waved his hand, took a shaky swig of his beer, then leaned forward, an elbow on his knee. “And never mind what you saw on my laptop. That’s some weird shit—it’s not real.”

“You mean the cartoons?”

“I mean all of it. Porn in general. It’s not real.”

“But some of it looks real…”

Dean sighed. He drained the last of the beer, and reached over to set the bottle on Sam’s dresser. It was gonna leave a ring. He wished he’d brought another one in.

“Well, it ain’t. Most of the porn you see is just actors getting paid to act out some pervert’s fantasy. Real life is different.” Dean sat back and held Jack’s eye. “So listen. Most women don’t want to be treated like they’re in a porno. You need to respect them and ask for what you want like a gentleman. Sometimes they’re gonna say no, and you say ok. Sometimes they’re gonna say yes, and then you gotta be ready.” Dean leaned forward and pulled open Sam’s top drawer, fishing out the box of Trojans he knew his brother kept there, because he’d snaked a couple. He tossed the box at Jack.

“Take a couple of those. You gotta know how to use condoms, and you gotta use ‘em every time. If you don’t, you’re liable to knock a girl up, and I don’t know what happens when you get knocked up by a Nephilim, but I can’t believe it’s good.”

Jack scowled, clutching the box. “I would never knock a girl…”

Dean gestured at his midsection. “‘Knocked up’ means pregnant. You’ll get a girl pregnant. You do that and there’s gonna be problems.”

“Oh. I see.” Jack’s face clouded over, and he stared down at the small box. “She could die. Like my mother.”

Dean sighed. “Well, worst case scenario… yeah.” He watched Jack open the box and take out one of the foil packets, fingering it thoughtfully.

“So I just eat one before the sex?” Jack asked.

Dean blinked. “Eat one…” Then he burst out laughing, realizing what Jack meant. It seemed to lift the gloom that had settled in the room. “No, man, you… you roll it on your dick for protection. You gotta leave a little space, and… hell, I think there’s a diagram in the box. You take one to your room and practice. Read the directions.”

“Ok. Thank you.” Jack looked up at him again. Were those whiskers growing over his lip?

Dean leaned back in his chair. Goddamn, they grow up so fast. “You’re welcome. Any questions?”

“Yes. What about the men?”

“The men…?”

“You said the women don’t want to be treated like they’re in a porno. But what about the men? The men who are having sex with other men?”

“The… uh…” Dean felt a flush rising up his neck again. He leaned over and snatched the beer bottle from the top of the dresser, went to take a pull, remembered it was empty. He dug his nails furiously into the label. Took a deliberate breath. _Cool it, Dean._ “You, uh… you thinking about shagging dudes, too?”

“Well, I’m feeling attracted to girls right now. But when you have sex with Castiel, is it like the pornos? You don’t need to use a condom, do you?”

Dean’s mouth fell open.

Jack waited expectantly.

Dean slowly closed his mouth as his thoughts finally coalesced again, like a flock of starlings settling back onto a wire. He scratched his head, cleared his throat, tried to ignore the sudden knot in his gut. “Uh, so… Cas and I don’t have sex. It’s not like that. And, yeah... if you take a dude to bed you better use a rubber too, ‘cause you know… diseases. You gotta read up on STDs.”

Jack didn’t want to talk about STDs. He frowned. “You don’t have sex? But I thought when people love each other like you do…”

Dean wondered helplessly what shade of crimson his face had become. Were they really going there? He stared down at the beer bottle in his hands, not seeing it. “Yeah, we… we love each other. He’s my best friend, see? Like a brother.” He forced himself to look up at Jack again, set the bottle back down. “But you don’t have sex with your best friend or your brother.”

Jack was always a little too perceptive. “Even if you both want to?”

Dean hoped his bitchface wasn’t too severe.

Jack lifted his chin defiantly. “I can’t help but feel it.”

Dean turned away from the boy’s penetrating gaze, searching the room for something else to focus on. Took another bracing breath. Time to nip this in the bud. “Listen – life is complicated,” he said quietly, “you’re finding that out.” His eyes lit on Castiel’s trench coat, folded neatly on the foot of the bed. “And sex just makes things more complicated – you’ll find that out, too. Sometimes you gotta make hard choices. Sometimes… you just gotta suck it up.”

The boy’s brow knit even tighter. “ _Suck it up_?”

Dean stood up, turning, and shoved his hands in his pockets. Conversation over. “You know what I mean,” he said darkly. “Just keep it in your pants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love to hear what you think of this one? Is this how you imagined the talk going?


	2. The Tick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds a tick in the worst of places, and Sam is no help. Thankfully, Cas comes to the rescue.

They settled into the hotel room in the usual way, Sam peeling off his shoes and climbing onto the bed with his laptop while Dean grabbed his Dopp kit and headed into the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of the shower added to the background noise of traffic passing on the nearby highway. Castiel perched in a stiff-backed chair at the small table by the window, watching Sam’s face in the glow from the laptop screen.

“Not sure where I went wrong,” Sam said after a minute or two. “It says right here, the old burying ground was supposed to be on the southwest side of the intersection, about a hundred yards from the road. But we sure as hell didn’t find it.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Castiel observed. “It must have been neglected for many years. Perhaps the plots were never well-marked to begin with.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking… maybe we need to go back with dowsing rods or something.”

“If I couldn’t detect anything for you, I’m not sure what that would…”

A loud shout from the shower cut Castiel off mid-sentence. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“No way!” came another agitated yell. “Aaaugh, no… no, no no. Sonofabitch. Goddammit!”

The water stopped, but Dean’s expletives did not, and Sam turned his head and hollered, “You ok in there?” Castiel noted a small smirk on his face.

“No, I’m not _ok_!” Dean yelled back. A second later the door opened and Dean stepped into the room, hair dripping and a towel around his waist. Steam rolled out behind him. “I have a tick,” he declared.

Sam snorted. “Just one, drama queen? You need my tweezers?”

Dean glared. “Just give ‘em to me, bitch.”

Sam sighed, leaned over the side of the bed and rummaged in his bag until he found his first aid kit, then sat up and handed it to his brother. “Have at it.”

With a growl, Dean took the bag back into the bathroom and pulled the door shut.

“He seems inordinately upset,” Castiel said.

Sam just shook his head, waking up his laptop again. “Maybe it’s on his balls.”

Cas squinted at the bathroom door, listening to Dean grunt and groan and curse. “What the… c’mon you little bastard... FUCK. Aaaugh, _so help me_ …”

Castiel wasn’t surprised that Dean had a tick on him; the surprise was that there was only one. After two hours of bushwhacking in the dark through long grass and shrubs and startling several deer from their beds, they had arrived back at the Impala covered in seeds and insects. After shining a light on himself, Sam had been sufficiently disturbed as to change clothes there in the field. Dean, however, had brushed off as best he could and said he just wanted a burger and NOW.

Dean yanked the bathroom door open again, looking even more mightily provoked. “It’s on my balls,” he said tightly, “And it’s dug in. One of you clowns needs to help me.”

Sam snickered a little. “Seriously, Dean?”

“Yeah, _seriously_ —you think I’m asking ‘cause I _want_ you touching my nutsack? It’s on the backside, in my tween, like practically up my ass, and I can’t fucking see it no matter what fucking yoga position I pretzel into on the freezing fucking floor!”

Sam gestured at Cas. “Cas, can’t you, like, mojo it off him?”

Castiel stood up, ready to assist.

“Hell, why didn’t I think of that?” Dean exclaimed, and stepped up to his friend. “C’mon, can you just touch my nose and make it fall off?”

Castiel frowned, confused. “Why would you want me to make your nose fall off?”

“The _tick_ , dumbass, can you make the tick fall off?”

Cas rolled his eyes, then reached two fingers up to Dean’s temple and sent a gentle jolt of grace through him. Dean gasped a little, but stood there wide-eyed, staring at Cas. Castiel let his fingers linger, feeling the creature’s energy, the place where it had attached to Dean and begun feeding on his blood. The grace made the tick squirm and convulse, but it only tightened its grip against the onslaught and kept on sucking.

“Did it work?” Dean asked breathlessly.

“I’m afraid not,” Castiel replied.

“What? Well, hit ‘im again, then!”

“No, Dean. If I send enough grace through your testicles to kill the tick, I will also render you sterile.”

“Dude, I’m not making babies anytime soon. Just do it.”

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

Dean pulled away angrily. “You more comfortable looking up my ass and pulling it off with tweezers? Cause I’m not exactly comfortable with _that_.”

“Would you rather your brother did it?”

“Hell, no!”

Sam snapped his laptop shut and stood up. “I’ll just head next door to the restaurant and let you two solve this little dilemma.” And he hustled out the door, computer under his arm.

Castiel watched a drop of water roll down the side of Dean’s face. He could feel waves of tension radiating from the man. After spending forty years in Hell and fighting monsters his entire life, why was a small insect on his genitals so distressing?

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Dean muttered, then sighed, hand on his hip. “But I don’t wanna wait that long.”

“Dean, it will be painless. You have endured far worse.”

“It ain’t pain I’m worried about.” Dean looked around the room, squinted at the curtains—Castiel knew they were closed. “Alright, let’s just do this. Do you want me to…” He looked at the bathroom door, then the bed. “Fuck it.”

Dean handed Castiel the tweezers, then turned, dropped his towel to the floor, and crawled up to kneel on the edge of the bed. Ass in the air, thighs spread, he reached a hand around to gesture at his backside. “See it?” he asked through his teeth.

Castiel blinked. There was the tick, attached at the point where Dean’s scrotum joined his body. And there was Dean naked, back arched and perfect pink buttocks presented to him like an offering. Something in Castiel’s vessel responded very immediately and viscerally; something in Castiel’s true essence was likewise arrested by the spectacle before him.

His reaction caught him quite by surprise, and yet…

While human, he had dreamed of something akin to this sight. Dean bared to him, touching him, inviting him to his bed and his body. During long, lonely nights on the hard floor of the Gas n’ Sip storage room, he often soothed himself with imaginings of Dean welcoming him back to the bunker with open arms—and legs. He knew it was foolish to indulge in such carnal lust, but still, the time passed more quickly with his hand in his shorts and Dean’s name on his lips. When he got his grace back, the aching fantasies were replaced once again by a desire to please and to serve; only this time, he’d tasted human pleasure, and he knew that there were many ways he’d like to please Dean and serve him.

One way—a particular favorite to imagine—involved skillful anal lovemaking, during which Dean would be reduced to a moaning, quivering, orgasming ruin. 

“Dude, c’mon,” Dean urged, and his voice sounded high and strange.

Castiel realized that Dean’s thighs were trembling. “Are you cold?” he asked, snapping out of his reverie.

“No… just… hurry up, man.”

Dean wasn’t cold, Castiel suddenly understood—he was feeling terribly vulnerable. Perhaps even humiliated. And here his best friend and protector was taking advantage…

“I’m sorry,” the angel said contritely, vowing no more woolgathering. He stepped closer, noticing the way the fine, downy hairs on Dean’s back glowed in the lamp light. Should he use the tweezers? That just seemed clumsy, and liable to take some hair with it… “May I touch you?”

“Gonna have to, aren’t ya?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeated. Gently and reverently, he cupped Dean’s left buttock in one hand, and sent a soothing wisp of grace into his tailbone and up his spine. Dean stopped shivering and sighed, and Castiel could feel his taut glute release a bit.

“No, _I’m_ sorry, man. This ain’t really a job for an angel of the Lord…”

While Dean was busy talking, Cas quickly dipped his right hand between Dean’s legs, feeling the hard nub of the tick embedded in the softest part of Dean’s body _._

“How many angels does it take to remove a tick from a human’s nut sack?” Castiel asked.

“Huh?”

“That was a joke, Dean.”

Dean snorted, his head hanging down.

Castiel then hovered a finger over the tick without touching Dean. “Come out,” he commanded.

_“What?”_

“I’m speaking to the tick.”

Dean barked out a nervous laugh. The tick began to squirm, then slowly and grudgingly to release.

“What the hell’s taking so long?”

“Nothing,” Castiel quipped. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

“Dude…”

“That was another joke,” he lied.

Dean relaxed a bit more, grinning and sliding his eyes up to Castiel’s. “Nice bedside manner, Doctor Assbutt.”

The tick finally backed completely out, crawling onto Castiel’s finger, whereupon he found a small glee in vaporizing it.

“There,” Cas announced, stepping back and dropping his hand from Dean’s rear end, “you are free of tiny vampires.”

“Ha… awesome.” Dean snagged a pillow, stood up and held it in front of him as he turned around. “Let’s see.”

Castiel rubbed his fingers together. “I destroyed it.”

“Oh… ok, well… thanks, man.”

Cas nodded and smiled, and Dean smiled back.

“Any time you want my help, Dean, I’m here.”

“I know, buddy. Sorry again about the eyeful of ass.”

“That’s quite alright—I have seen many human asses in my day. Yours is one of the more enjoyable ones to look at. It’s particularly muscular and well formed.”

Dean’s lips parted, and he just stood there blinking at Cas for a moment, his pillow clutched in front of him. Castiel began to wonder if he’d crossed a line—but no, Dean’s pupils had dilated, and his expression was one of… curiosity.

“Was that a joke too?” Dean murmured.

Cas tilted his head, his eyes dropping to Dean’s moist lips. “No, just an observation.”

“Mmm.”

They stood there a moment longer, until Cas realized Dean wasn’t moving because the angel was blocking the way. He stepped back and Dean strode past him, tossing the pillow back on the bed as he did so, then bending over rather extravagantly to pick up his towel.

Castiel’s eyes widened, his half-hard cock twitching in a way that might have been highly arousing, had he been human.

Dean stood up again, holding the towel in front of him, then tossed a grin back over his shoulder. “Consider that payment for services rendered, Doc,” he teased, then disappeared back into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Comments are oh-so-delicious to the author, so please be generous! Hope you liked.


	3. Hold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ramiel's lance nearly kills him, Castiel needs a little human touch to recover.

Dean had planned to make it back to the bunker that night, but they’d only logged about two hours in the Impala before the Motel 6 sign loomed up from the side of the highway, and he found himself heading up the exit ramp.

“Whaddaya doin’?” Sam inquired, squinting bleary-eyed at him.

Dean glanced at Cas for the 95th time in his rearview mirror. The angel looked so pale in the light of a passing streetlamp, his eyes still closed.

“Gonna stop for the night,” Dean replied without looking at his brother, his jaw set. “I think we all just need to chill.”

“Gotcha.” Sam knew better than to argue tonight.

Dean pulled Baby up in front of their ground-floor room. Cas hadn’t even moved while Sam registered at the office, which had Dean more than a little concerned. He slid out of the car and opened Castiel’s door a little too fast; his friend had been leaning against it, and nearly tumbled out into his arms.

“Whoa!” Dean caught him under an armpit and gently righted him back into the seat, and Cas blinked up at him, startled and sleepy. “You ok, buddy?”

The angel grunted uncharacteristically, lifting a hand to his head. “I think so,” he answered.

“We decided to take a break here. C’mon.”  Dean offered Cas a hand as Sam pulled their gear from the trunk. To Dean’s surprise, Cas kept ahold of the hand even after Dean hauled him to his feet, and they walked slowly together into the room, while Sam held the door open.

Cas sat down heavily on the bed near the door, while Sam dropped their bags. Dean crouched in front of the angel. He’d seen Castiel weak and worn out before, even to the point of passing out—but this seemed somehow different.

“You still in pain, Cas?” Sam asked, pulling out his medical kit. “Is there anything we can do?”

“No, not really,” Castiel said. “I’m just… drained.

“Rest then,” Dean said. “Here…” and he grabbed Cas by first one ankle and then the other, wrestling his friend’s boots off.

Cas watched him listlessly, and when Dean stood and tugged at the lapels of his trench coat next, the angel shrugged slowly out of it—with Dean’s help. Then the suitcoat. Dean laid them both carefully over a chair, and when he’d turned back to the bed, Cas was already pulling his legs up and curling up on his side, face to the wall.

Dean shared a look with Sam, who appeared equally disturbed. He sighed. “Ok, then,” he said, reaching out to pat Castiel on the calf, through his cheap polyester trousers. “Lemme know if you need anything, pal.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas croaked, but didn’t move.

He didn’t move while Sam and Dean showered, nor did he move when Dean settled on the bed beside him in his sweatpants and cracked open a beer, then flipped through a few channels. Sam slouched on the other bed, engrossed in something on his laptop. “Hey,” Dean said, giving Cas a gentle elbow in the kidney, “ _Forged in Fire_ is on. You like this show.”

“Another time,” Cas mumbled into the bedclothes.

Dean sighed. The ibuprofen he’d popped were having little effect on the throbbing in his head and in his shoulder, where he’d bounced off a post in the barn. He’d also taken a blow across the jaw from the butt of Ramiel’s lance, and that was gonna leave a nasty bruise. He lifted a hand to gingerly rub the side of his sore face, wondering if a couple teeth weren’t loose. He was hungry, but he wasn’t about to attempt the Snickers bar in his bag. He reckoned he might be looking at oatmeal for breakfast, dammit.

Normally, Cas would have healed him by now… but Cas had nearly died tonight. Again. Dean stared at the TV, but he wasn’t seeing the flickering images there; he was seeing Castiel sprawled on the ruined couch in that barn, bleeding and suffering, and frightened for _him_. Telling _him_ to run and save himself.

“Your blade will kill,” the grinning TV judge proclaimed, and Dean lifted the remote impulsively and switched the set off. He clunked his empty beer bottle down on the nightstand.

Sam raised his head and glanced over.

“Tired,” Dean lied, sliding down under the covers next to Cas and trying to get comfortable.

Sam turned off the bedside lamp and hunched further into his laptop, leaving Dean to his thoughts.

_Fucking fishing Prince of Hell. Lost another hunter. What the hell had Mom been thinking? Where is she off to now? And what’s wrong with Cas? Fucking Lance of Michael. He’ll be alright. Won’t he? Crowley, of all people… ‘I love you… I love all of you…’ Fuck. I need a stiffer drink. I should turn down the air conditioner._

_I should put my arm around Cas._

He turned his head and looked over at the angel beside him, curled on top of the bedspread. Castiel’s disheveled white shirt glowed in the dim light, his dark hair tousled against the pillow. Dean rolled to face his friend’s back. How many times had he awakened back in the bunker to find the angel in his bed? Castiel was always the big spoon, nestled fully-clothed and warm against Dean’s back, a protective arm around him, or resting on his shoulder. Sometimes Dean didn’t remember how they got there, but when he did, he always recalled roughly the same thing. Dean would be miserable, well into a bottle of Jack, full of self-loathing and loneliness and longing, when Cas would appear at his bedside. There would be words, sometimes shameful tears, but it always ended the same way. The first time, Dean had simply grabbed Castiel by the arm and pulled the angel down beside him. “I need you,” he’d blurted, then rolled over and dragged the angel’s arm over and around him like a blanket. Castiel not only allowed it, but stayed with Dean most of the night, only leaving after healing Dean’s morning hangover with the gentle press of a finger.

Something told him he should be the big spoon tonight… but there was Sam in the next bed, and his pounding head, and… maybe Cas just didn’t want to be touched.

Despite the rattling air conditioner and his whirling mind, Dean finally dozed off.

When he awoke sometime in the wee hours, he thought the light flashing across his eyelids was coming from Sam’s laptop. He blinked, preparing to gripe at his brother, but Sam was lying asleep in the next bed. The light was streaming from the bathroom, and it was NOT the glow of the bathroom fixture. He turned his head to see that Cas was no longer in the bed, and frowned. Something felt amiss. The room was fucking freezing. He found himself padding quickly across the rough carpeting, around the beds, turning down the A/C and stopping short at the bathroom door. It stood open a few inches, and inside he could see Castiel standing in front of the large mirror there, running his hands over his torso. His clothes lay in a heap on the floor.

 It was dark but for the glow of grace flowing from the angel’s palms, illuminating the room and the landscape of Castiel’s bare body in fits and starts—now strobing brightly, now pulsing slow and dim. Cas was whispering in a language Dean recognized as Enochian. Dean watched, mesmerized, for a moment, until it became clear to him that his friend was distressed.

“Cas…” he murmured from the doorway, “You ok?”

Castiel froze, the room plunging into darkness again. “Yes,” he muttered. “Sorry to wake you.”

Dean knew better. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, groped for the nightlight he’d seen plugged in over the sink. Finally put a hand on it and flipped it on. He was afraid for a hot second that he’d see the terrible, black fissures spreading over Castiel’s skin again—but the tiny light only revealed Castiel’s vessel to be whole and his skin healthy. The angel’s face told a different story.

“You’re _not_ ok,” Dean declared. “What’sa matter? What’re you doing?”

“I’m trying to heal myself,” Cas answered. “I… I don’t feel right.”

“How do you mean?”

Castiel’s eyes flicked back to the mirror, his fingers drifting back to his belly again. “I feel… as if it’s still happening. The putrefaction. My grace is… guttering, for lack of a better word. I keep imagining it’s happening again… It seems that it won’t stop.” He looked down at himself, then at Dean, his eyes wide and pleading. “Can you see it? Is it happening?”

Dean came to stand beside him and let his eyes wander over Cas’ body, trying to look everywhere but _there._ The angel was _naked_ , for Chrissake, and this time he wasn’t covered with a swarm of bees.

“You look ok to me, Cas,” Dean tried to soothe. “I can’t see any trace of it. You look fine.”

“Perhaps it’s inside me,” Cas said lowly. “Burning through my grace. It could burst out again...”

“Crowley broke the lance—you’re healed now.”

“But if it’s still deep…”

“Stop it now,” Dean ordered. He inserted himself between Castiel and the sink, and put both hands on Cas’ shoulders. The angel was trembling. “Listen to me.”

Cas turned frightened eyes to his, the corners of his mouth tugging down, and Dean was suddenly desperate to fix him.

“You’re just traumatized, ok? It’s… it’s PTSD, you know? It happens to me all the time… to Sam, too. You just gotta find a way to cope for a little while. It’ll stop… it’ll get better.”

“You were wrong… in the barn,” Castiel said, his tone implying that Dean might just be wrong again, “I wasn’t going to heal. I was dying.”

“Yeah, ok, so I was wrong that time. But I’m not wrong now. You’re afraid, and you’re letting it get the best of you.”

Castiel’s brows knit together.

Dean sighed. “Look… you’re the bravest sonofabitch I know, and you ain’t afraid to die, but you really don’t like losing control of yourself. That’s what scares you. You been out there kicking ass for millennia, but between Leviathan and… and Naomi, and Rowena’s curse that time…”

“This is different. I am not _compelled_ by…”

“Yeah, but there’s still… still nothing you can do to control it, you know?” Dean squeezed his shoulders gently. “So maybe just stop fighting it.”

Cas closed his eyes and sighed, let his hands drop to his sides.

“Did it hurt a lot?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Does it still?”

His mouth twitched. “There are… phantom pains.”

“Where?”

Castiel took Dean’s left hand and placed it near his heart. “Here,” he said. Then he took Dean’s right hand and placed it low on his ribcage, over the place the spear had pierced him. “And here.” He stood very still and opened his eyes to meet Dean’s.

With his hands on his friend’s warm skin, Dean suddenly became super-conscious of their proximity. They were inches apart, the sink pressing into Dean’s lower back. And Cas was buck naked, for God’s sake. Dean found himself speechless.

Cas’ face softened. “Is this uncomfortable for you, Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat. _Man up, Dean._ “No, man. I’m here for you.”

Cas’ mouth quirked into a tiny smile, his eyes drifting closed again, and he lifted his hands to place them over Dean’s, where they pressed against his body. He let his head tip back a little.

Was this helping? Dean watched Castiel’s face relax incrementally as he continued the laying on of hands. He hoped it was helping. His touch appeared to be making Cas feel better, and that made _him_ feel better. He took a few deep, slow breaths, and tried to forget about the goosebumps on his skin in the chill of the room, to forget about the dull headache in his left temple, and the throbbing in his jaw. He tried to concentrate on Cas, and how good it was to still have him close. _I love you… I love all of you…_

_Love you back, buddy,_ he thought, and watched Cas’ smile widen a fraction.

They stood for a few more minutes like that, then Cas slowly opened his eyes and looked at Dean tenderly. He reached out a hand to stroke it down Dean’s arm. “Your skin is cold,” he mused, “though your soul is so warm.”

Dean let his hands drop from Castiel’s body, and Castiel followed suit.

“Why don’t you go back to bed now, Dean. I’ll be alright.”

The angel did seem calmer, but Dean didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone in the bathroom again. “I’m going back to bed, and you’re coming with me,” Dean told him. He gestured to the floor. “Just… you know… put your shorts back on and come on.”

Dean held the covers open, so Cas could slide underneath this time, and settled down to make himself comfortable next to his friend. It was weird, having Cas beside him without clothes; he’d so seldom seen the angel without his multiple layers. Castiel’s body seemed so much thinner without the trench coat. So much more human. Except for the way he lay on his back stiffly and stared at the ceiling.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, “try to rest.”

Castiel turned his head toward Dean. “You as well.”

Dean snorted a little and closed his eyes, but somehow he could still feel Castiel’s gaze upon him. Could feel the warmth radiating from his friend’s body under the blankets. He tried not to think about what he’d just seen in the bathroom—though his mind wanted to go there. The lush, round curve of Castiel’s pale ass… a muscular thigh… No, not going to go there. He let his thoughts drift instead back to those nights with Cas in the bunker… and to nights he’d spent piled up with Sammy, when they were very young and alone in some strange motel room. It was nice, having someone close at night. It was the thing he missed most about being with Lisa. Well, besides the regular sex. Just having someone close. Even when he was the protector, and not the protected, there was something so comforting and soothing about another body close at hand. Was this the first time he was admitting that need to himself? Maybe he was just getting old…

“Dean…” Castiel whispered beside him.

Dean’s eyes popped open. Cas was staring at him plaintively, his eyes glistening. He’d rolled onto his side.

“Yeah?”

Castiel reached for Dean’s hand where it lay on the pillow and brought it to press against his bare chest. “I’m sorry, but… I need you.”

“Hey…” he murmured back. “It’s ok… don’t be sorry. What can I do?”

“Just this,” Cas replied, his fingers moving over the back of Dean’s hand, where it lay against his breast. “This is enough.”

Dean stared into his friend’s eyes; they always held an odd, faint glow only visible in the dark. Just enough to remind him that Cas wasn’t human. Tonight, though, he seemed more human than ever, his heart pounding beneath Dean’s hand.

“Ok, buddy,” he whispered. “Ok.”

Was it possible that Cas craved human touch now as much as he did? Why? Or was Cas somehow drawing from his soul? Cas seemed to read his mind, answering his question without being asked.

“Your proximity is healing for me, Dean,” Castiel murmured. “Your soul’s energy… your body’s energy… are helping to stabilize my own.”

“Yeah? Cool.” He smiled at Cas in the dark, despite his aching jaw, and the angel smiled back, half his face obscured by the pillow.

There was a time, Dean thought, when all this might have felt threatening to his manhood. Way too touchy-feely. Too chick flick. Dean sighed, closing his eyes again. _Definitely getting old._ At least too old to give a shit about somebody else’s idea of manhood anymore. Hell, he’d saved the world a few times over. If anybody wanted to give him a hard time about cuddling with a dude angel, they could fuck off to… well, where-ever. He’d earned this. And it was nice, just laying with Cas, touching a little, making his angel feel good. Even if Sam did wake up and see them, what was he gonna say? _Nothing, that’s what. Or I kick his long, tall ass._ If Sam said anything at all, though, he’d probably say something along the lines of “Jesus, you two, get your own room already.” Cause Sam, like everybody else human and otherwise, already thought they had a “thing” going on—even if he rarely alluded to it.

To Dean, they didn’t have a “thing,” since they weren’t bumping uglies, and isn’t that what a “thing” boils down to? Or maybe they just had a different sort of “thing.” He and Cas were close buds, of course. But there was more to it than that, he had to admit. So why hadn’t they ever messed around? Sure, Cas had guy parts, but that hadn’t generally been a deal-breaker for Dean. And sure, Cas wasn’t really Dean’s “type” when it came down to dudes. But. On nights when he was half drunk and lying under Castiel’s arm, it was sometimes all he could do not to grab Cas’ hand and shove it down his shorts. That was when he told himself he was just drunk and any warm body would do for a loser whoredog like himself. He told himself not to ruin a great friendship by using Cas as just that warm body. He told himself Cas was an angel. He told himself Cas was above that shit and might get pissed. He told himself Cas was off limits, and deserved better. Deep down, he knew it was all bullshit (except maybe the very last part), and if he nutted up, he’d admit that what he really wanted was to have Cas up close and personal in his bed every night. And maybe, once a week or so, banging him senseless, if that wasn’t too much to ask. He suspected that Cas wanted some version of that too.

So did it really just come down to him being chicken shit? And why? It wasn’t like Cas was going to smite him for coming out. Perhaps it was that Cas _mattered_ to him, more than any one-night stand—or even girlfriend—ever had… and more than he dared to admit. Even if Cas didn’t smite Dean for offering to blow him, he might just back off. He might reject Dean’s advances. He might withdraw his friendship, and…

Dean suddenly snapped out of his reverie, feeling Cas let go of his hand, and a moment later, gently cup the side of his face. He opened his eyes.

A look of consternation crept over Cas’ features. “Oh, Dean,” he murmured, “your jaw is fractured. Why didn’t you tell me you were in such pain?”

“I… uh… it wasn’t so…”

“Hush,” Cas said to him, and Dean felt the icy-hot flush of grace spreading through his skull, flowing like a spring, healing his jaw, and seeking out his head injury…

“Uungh… dude you shouldn’t be…”

“A concussion as well,” Cas declared, frowning.

“Minor… Listen, you’re not…”

“Stop. My grace is returning to normal, thanks to you. Or at least normal for lately. Now it’s your turn for healing.” Cas smiled gently and continued his ministrations, holding Dean’s gaze. Dean shifted a little, felt his knee bump into Castiel’s. The pain in his head vanished, replaced by refreshing clarity, and he sighed in relief. Cas’ hand slipped down to his shoulder, fingers light on his bare skin. “Hmm,” Cas purred, a soothing sound. “Your shoulder is painful, too.”

“Yeah… not anymore.”

Castiel’s smile widened. “I fixed it.”

Dean gave up protesting and sighed again. “Thanks, pal.” Castiel’s eyes sparkled in the dark, glowing so faintly. Cas’ hand relaxed on his shoulder, lying heavier, his thumb playing over Dean’s collarbone and leaving a tingling trail.

Next thing Dean knew, he was breaking all his own rules. With Sam snoring in the bed behind him, he slipped a hand up to the nape of Castiel’s neck, leaned closer, and kissed the angel full on the mouth. Castiel stiffened in surprise, his hand on Dean’s shoulder tightening, and Dean began to pull back—but Cas followed him, his mouth hot and wet and willing. So Dean committed, pulling the angel’s body flush, pressing in, opening up, and feeling Cas do the same.

_Crazy, crazy, this is crazy_   went the voice in the back of his head, but Dean didn’t care right this minute; life felt too damn short and this felt like something he’d wanted for a stupidly long time _Crazy, crazy, this is crazy, quit while you’re ahead_   Cas was breathing heavily through his nose, luscious mouth open against Dean’s as their tongues and lips tangled, and his hands, his hands on Dean’s skin felt hot and cold and electric and that made Dean a little nuts _Crazy, oh shit, this is so crazy_  Cas splayed open wantonly underneath him, chest bare and skin smooth and thighs pale and   _Oh fuck this is crazy, we better stop_  Cas was trembling, for God’s sake, and his shorts and Dean’s sweatpants didn’t prove much of a barrier to   _Oh, Christ_ , _is that Cas’ hard-on?_

A stunning sensation suddenly rocketed through him, from his pelvis right up to his scalp and down to his toes. It was like the shock of jumping into ice cold water, as if he’d been pushed into the ocean. “Gah!” Dean yelped, jerking back. “The fuck was that!?” Cas just blinked up at him in surprise, and Dean reached down to make sure his dick was still attached—a common reflex, but one that seemed apropos at the moment. Yup, still there, and no less woody for the cold splash. He couldn’t help noticing Cas’ condition appeared similar.

“Hey, whatsa matter?”

Sam’s voice hit him like another cold soaking.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, readjusting himself to lie down innocently next to his friend. “Nothing, I… was just sleeping and forgot Cas was in the bed.”

Sam snorted. “He poke you?”

“Dude, fuck off.”

“Wish I could. Cas, you ok?”

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “Yes, I’m fine.” But Cas was climbing out of the bed and heading for the bathroom.

Dean stared after him, trying to gather his thoughts. Failing that, he followed his instinct after a moment and followed Cas back into the bathroom, not caring what Sam thought this time.

The angel was unfolding his shirt and preparing to put it back on.

Dean closed the door behind him. “Dude, what the hell was that? And what are you doing?”

Cas looked at him like a chastised child, then hung his head, the shirt hanging limply from his hand. “I’m sorry, Dean. I never should have… I lost control of my grace for a moment… are you hurt?” He looked up meekly.

“No. I mean, I’m a little freaked out, but I’m fine…”

“It was wrong of me to take advantage, and I’m sorry,” the angel repeated. “I hope you can forgive me.” Then he slowly resumed dressing, which was the last thing Dean wanted right now.

“Hey, don’t bother with that,” Dean said, stepping toward Cas and grabbing his elbow. “C’mon, just… come out of here. I’m tired. Let’s go…” He suddenly wanted nothing more than to rewind, to try again, to just show Cas that he could be there and be supportive and unselfish—and not make everything about him and his dick.

Cas looked chagrined, resisting. “Can’t I get dressed before I go?”

Dean released him, his heart plummeting. “Go? You mean leave? Dude, I just meant…” He slumped back against the sink, ran a shaky hand through his hair. _Damn_. “I just meant let’s go back to bed and try this again. You know, sans… make-out. I should be the one apologizing—not you.”

***

Once again, Dean held the sheet open for Cas to slide in beside him. In the next bed, Sam turned over and babbled something incoherent.

Cas climbed in slowly and lay down on his back with great care, wincing as if he were prostrating himself on a bed of nails.

“You good?”

“I shouldn’t do this again, Dean. You and Sam need to rest.”

“I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Listen, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. And I won’t… you know... get carried away again.”

“I’ve been enough trouble for you today. Now here I am, nearly naked in your bed and asking for your touch and tempting you when I know you have trouble containing your sexual urges…”

Dean felt the urge to be indignant, but instead barked out a laugh. “Listen, just… just shut-up a minute. Here…”

Dean knew what to do. He gave Castiel’s shoulder a little shove. “Roll over. Just… face the other way.”

Castiel obeyed. “Like this?”

“Yeah.” Dean slid close to his friend’s back, then, and snaked an arm around his waist, nudging his knees up under Castiel’s thighs. He raised his hand to press it against Castiel’s chest, then nestled his head into the pillow and sighed. “Like this.” Tonight, Dean would be big spoon.

Castiel’s fingers ghosted softly over the top of Dean’s, and Dean could feel the angel’s body beginning to relax in his arms.

“This good?” Dean mumbled to the back of Castiel’s head.

“Yes… yes it’s very good.”

“No more fuckin’ monkey business tonight,” Dean slurred into his pillow. He said it as much to his dick as to Cas, but Cas replied solemnly.

“I will not act like a monkey. And Dean?”

“Huh?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked! Leave me some love.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm challenging myself to write seven short pieces (hence Seven Sexual Situations), so please cheer me on if you like that idea! They will vary in rating from Teen & Up to Explicit, and most, if not all, will feature some form of Destiel. Love to hear what you think about this one! Thanks for reading, pal!


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